


Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion Volume I

by arcanedreamer



Series: Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanedreamer/pseuds/arcanedreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the story of the Slayer.  In the words of Giles, "Into every generation is born a chosen one... she alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."  People like Giles were the Watchers, the English mentors of the Slayers.  At least...that was the story.<br/>Buffy found a way to unlock the sleeping power within all Potential future Slayers, chosen when the previous Slayer dies, and now the Slayers are many.  Those who survived the last battle helped to form the next Watcher's Council and in other ways help the new Slayers.  And for a while, they have gotten breathing room from the next Big Bad or apocalypse.<br/>The peace is about to be broken, as the worlds of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and Buffy the Vampire Slayer collide, bringing new allies and new threats.  Heroes will find new strength within.  Investigation of a certain stone mask sparks inquiries into the history of the ancient vampire relic, and some surprise discoveries are made along the way, including that of another legendary line of vampire hunters.<br/>This has been changed to a series in order to make it easier to read than just one long work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Prophecy of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Don't worry, I'll try to be brief here. Fail, probably, but it's important to at least try to skim, just because some of these things are important. This is an AU, so it won't be canon compliant! Some changes are made on purpose for the sake of the fic, and will be explained in due time. Feel free to ask questions or constructively criticize! I'm working on reading the JJBA manga, and I've seen playthroughs of games based on Phantom Blood, Stardust Crusaders, Golden Wind, and All-Star Battle, complete with explanation, as well as the OVA of Stardust Crusaders, so I hope I at least have a feel for the series. In addition, I have a sensei who is a bit of a Jojo's expert here. (Edit: Have now seen Phantom Blood & Battle Tendency, Stardust Crusaders, read Diamond is Unbreakable, Phantom Blood, Battle Tendency, up to the DIO fights in SDC.) THERE IS A DIAMOND IS UNBREAKABLE ANIME ON ITS WAY!!!!!  
> I wouldn't call myself a Buffy expert myself. I haven't seen it a million times or anything like that. I have marathoned it before, though, and I do have the advantage of having a Xander muse who just appeared and persistently just stayed. For quite a number of different ideas, and the Xander who appears for different fics is always slightly different.  
> Another note: unlike my usual, this is gen-fic. I don't think I could convey the awesomeness as well if it wasn't gen-fic. A few canon ships might show up, but other than that, if you're just here for the yaoi, you won't find any. That being said, the canon Xander/Dawn (of the comics) and Kennedy/Willow will not be making an appearance and barely be making an appearance, respectively.  
> ONE MORE THING! XANDER MUST DO RESEARCH!  
> If you aren't familiar with the cast of the other show, I'll be providing a cast of characters as they appear. Use it or not as you please. The first chapter is mainly an introduction to Buffy, since the Jojo's references so far will be explained later in the story. This particular universe is different from the original Jojo's, and the timeline has been changed to reflect this. I hope your adventure is quite bizarre. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue is stuck as being Chapter 1 because of the way this site works. Sorry about that. So 'Chapter 1' is really the prologue, 'Chapter 2' is really Chapter 1, and so on.
> 
> PROLOGUE CHARACTERS  
> Willow-She's a witch who isn't really using her powers because she kind of got addicted to them. She's kind and is best friends with the oldest Slayer, Buffy, and Xander.  
> Althenea-She's one of the Devon Coven, and has premonition powers.  
> Devon Coven-This is the group of powerful witches that took Willow in after her issues with magical addiction and helped her recover.  
> Xander-He is the only male besides Giles from the original group, and also is a vanilla normal. Despite his anxieties on this point and self-professed cowardice, he is actually quite brave, putting himself in harm's way time and time again even though his role in such a case is essentially that of a punching bag, serving as a distraction. His mouth tends to get away from him in some situations, but his time spent in Africa as a Watcher finding Slayers made him realize that he's not completely useless on his own after all. He would gladly die for his friends.  
> Ken-Better known as Kennedy, the Slayer dating Willow.  
> Giles-The main Watcher of the series, at first appearing as a simple librarian or researcher. He was often bemused by the Americans he found himself surrounded with. However, when he was young, he was a rogue warlock himself, and is capable of a great deal to protect the ones he's come to regard as family.

            "So, why am I here?" Willow asks curiously when Althenea's back is turned and she's pottering around the kettle. Not that she hasn't been enjoying herself, really. It's been a while since she's been able to do just girly things. Buffy's just been so busy, lately, and the Slayers aren't the same. She doesn't know them well, anyway. And Xander...well, he'd put up with it, for the sake of his friends, but he vastly didn't appreciate it, and he was in Africa anyway. Ken had about the same interest in girly hanging out as Xander did. She'd fake it for her girlfriend, and that was about it. At least with the members of the Devon Coven, they'd saved her life and worked with her a lot, so she felt like she actually knew them.  
            The slight shoulders stiffen slightly, then the witch laughs. "I suppose I wasn't that subtle. I can't exactly worry in secret."  
            "Worry?" Instantly Willow feels concerned. Out of all the members of the Coven, despite the talent for prophecy, Althenea usually managed to stay untouched by it all. "Nothing about the First, right? Because that would be bad, and be the sort of thing you of all people would worry about, and..." That would definitely be worrisome.  
            "No!" the brunette hastens to reassure her. "At least, I don't think so. The odd part about it is, I don't think it was meant for me. I think it was meant for you. And what little I saw wasn't exactly..." She shrugs helplessly and comes to sit next to Willow. "I invited you, partly because I was lonely and bored and wanted to hang out with a friend, and partly on pretext, because I can share it with you if you don't mind."  
            Willow nods, because it's for a friend. "This isn't bad for my..."  
            Althenea knows what she's going to say and shakes her head before she can even finish the sentence. "Odd as it is to say, I get the feeling that seeing the future is less magic than it's made out to be. And in any case, it's not exactly you in the driver's seat, dear. I'm just sharing what I see with you, though you might see more than I did."  
            It doesn't take much thinking. Okay, so prophecy's a dangerous thing, sometimes. But the one who's an expert on this stuff is encouraging her to do this, so... "What do I have to do?"  
            The Englishwoman beams brightly. "Mostly, just sit there and look pretty. I'm the one who's going to be doing all the work."  
            Willow blushes, but the instant the other woman takes her hands, it all begins to fade.

            She becomes aware in front of the still smoking ruins of some sort of really impressive mansion. She'd guess it was somewhere in England, but she couldn't be certain of that. She's certainly never been there.  
            Slowly, she realizes that she's not alone. Someone's standing, tall and proud, watching the dying flames. As she walks closer, she recognizes the profile and wonders why it took her quite so long to identify this particular person. After all, it's only her best friend.  
            She's approaching his blind side, so she's about to say something to not startle him, but he speaks without even turning his head. "Don't worry, Wils. I'll always be your Xander."  
            "What? What's going on, Xander?" That's confusing. And how'd he notice her, anyway? He'd gotten leery of people approaching from the left for this very reason. It's as if he expected her to be here.  
            "Zathras warned them, but no one listens to poor Zathras, no." Finally he turned to look at her, and smiled wider than she'd ever seen him smile before. He's at ease, content. "It's just that I have a few things I need to get together."  
            "Don't tell me you're going to die." She pulls him into a hug, and he hugs her back, warm and comforting.  
            "Nope, never. I plan on living forever," he tells her, massaging her shoulders, trying to get her to relax. In a softer voice, he tells her, "You know, we really can't tell that. Yeah, it's a possibility, but...isn't it always?"  
            "Are you actually here?" she asks, because this is too Xander-y to not be Xander.  
            "I've always been here. I just haven't realized it yet." He smiles at her as he pulls away.  
            Struck by a sudden panic, Willow reaches out a hand, tries to catch his arm, tries to stop him from leaving, but though she can still see him, her hand goes right through him, like it had when she was briefly a ghost.

mask fanged but harmless  
more important  
but untrusting

council chambers, bright, unforgiving light  
standing proud, unflinching, determined eye  
sentence, and if he'd only back down but

betrayal lies secrets  
no one is  
all these places flashing

fated blood will fall crimson  
and the one who sees does not see

so many things flying in the maelstrom of fate  
it's no wonder she couldn't see  
she could barely herself  
if only they'd—wait

the arrow and  
That's a body, lying there, broken, a body she used to know  
why won't it speak

            She startles awake, pulling her hands out of the other woman's, tears in her eyes. She can't exactly put a name to her nameless dread. It's starting to disappear already, but she knows Xander was there. She can barely stammer out a breathless thanks before requesting she be driven to the rail station immediately, and it seems Althenea understands her urgency because she agrees without a second thought.  
            She strides into Giles's office, interrupting him during the middle of yet another phone call, but it's urgent. "It's about Xander..."


	2. Artifact of Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander spots a dangerous artifact, and the Stone Mask begins to haunt his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably important to mention at this point that there are several different types of vampires that will be running around in this fic. The first is the 'normal' (at least, to the Watcher's Council) brand of Buffy vampires. There's a lot of emphasis on family lines and intrigue between different groups and Master Vampires holding power. On the other hand, some vampires just want money or to watch the world burn. The recently vamped are pretty weak and fairly easy even for humans to stake, and they grow in power as they age (i.e. survive not staking). They're stronger than normal humans and faster, but other than that they usually have to train or learn magic or the like just like humans. They feed by sucking blood, and can pretend to be human usually, though when angered or otherwise wanting to go into combat have a 'Game Face' which appears much more feral than the human visage. They cannot enter homes uninvited and can be killed by decapitation, staking, sunlight, fire, and holy water.  
> In other words, the vast majority of them are the wimpier, easier to kill cousins of Jojo's vampires. Ancient vampires are far more likely to be tougher, but still provide more ways to kill them than Jojo's vampires.  
> JJBA vampires usually feed by sticking their fingers into the bodies of their victims. Sunlight works, and fire weakens them, but good luck trying the other methods. They also need no invitations, and are likely to break down your door. Or your wall. Those who run into these vampires with either Hamon or Stands (which do more damage than just ordinary fighting, but you'd still need to have more endurance than the vampire in question to survive that) have an edge over the ordinary populace, but the fact that these vampires are still a lot tougher still remains.  
> The Turak-han introduced at the end of Buffy are probably related—like JJBA vampires, only fire and sunlight and massive damage really do anything to them, but they're more likely to kill you before you can kill them. Still, they have very little in human intelligence, more the sort of predator cunning, and as far as anyone's aware were not previously human.  
> If anything else needs clarified, don't hesitate to ask!  
> CAST OF NEW CHARACTERS APPEARING IN CHAPTER 1  
> Spike-A Buffy vampire with a soul who's joined up with the Watcher's Council. Like Angel, he is of the line of Aurelius, but doesn't trust magic. He likes to talk about how he's still the Big Bad, but he's practically adopted this group as family, and if you threaten them, he'll do his best to show you why he kept the nickname "the Bloody".  
> Glory-A Hell goddess the Scoobies fought.  
> The First-The First Evil. As an insubstantial ideal, the First could not physically affect the world, but could use agents and also take on the appearance of the dead to torment its enemies. It was their most dangerous opponent.  
> Angel-Also a Buffy style vampire. Nicknames: Deadboy, Peaches. He also doesn't tend to use magic, despite being of the line of Aurelius, but is more knowledgeable in such things than Spike. He tends to brood a lot, but if he's not currently evil or brooding too deeply, he's definitely useful in the good fight.

            Spike's the first to notice that Xander has paused in his greetings, one eye fixed, staring, on someplace that isn't his friends. Looking for weakness was more than second nature, now, and he could see the almost unreasoning panic.  
            "Oi! You still with us, Harris?"  
            A shudder passes over the man's whole body, before he shakes his head and looks up. The strength and determination in that eye is fairly new, a side effect (one of the only helpful ones) from the loss of the other. "Okay, I'm not sure what this means, G-man, but that mask is seriously wigging me out. I'm getting some really, really bad vibes."  
            The Head Watcher has to stop midway through his sentence, and blinks, trying to figure out where the conversation had gone without him. Finally, he's on board, and glances over at one of the crates of artifacts they'd been sorting through. "The stone mask, you mean?"  
            A nod. "It's…I haven't been this wigged out since Glory. I mean, it's not First level, but still."  
            The witch looks startled. "Are you sure you aren't just tired, Xander?"  
            The eye that wasn't under the eyepatch narrowed. The poor bloke looked like he was about to keel over, which only made the look more murderous. "…I-it's just that no one else has noticed anything, a-and…"  
            Xander sighs, clearly not in the mood for this. "Seriously, if you don't listen to me, someone might get really hurt. Again. And I don't particularly want that to happen ever again. It feels…different. Ancient, but…new?" He starts heading off, ignoring the pouts from the girls who'd wanted to say hi. He pauses at the top of the steps. "Ask Deadboy."  
            "Why would I—" Giles begins.  
            Spike feels no qualms about interrupting him though. "Why Peaches?" He sneers at the name.  
            "I did some research. The line of Aurelius is supposed to be pretty big on magical power, right? It feels like a vampire artifact, so…You don't strike me as the expert on that, Spike, but Deadboy might know something. However useless." He yawns. "And I'm off to bed, or I'll just sleep here. I don’t particularly care which." He'd looked tired before he'd seen the mask; now if they kept him too long, he'd just fall over on the spot. Something was definitely going on, or Spike wasn't a master vampire. He decided to follow. If he was just being paranoid, well, wouldn't be the first time, but if this did turn out to be big, well, he wasn't going to let anyone catch him kipping.

            There's a ship, an old ship. Steam.  
            And a man, a man holding up the holy grail, a face of rapture, except it's nothing so pretty, it's a jar, a jar with a face, and the glass explodes, one shard tearing past and scratching his face, and there's blood flying…  
            The blood falls, it's a head, a head with tentacles or something, and the eyes were open and that was a look, a face of evil…  
            It's moving now, fangs bared in a grin, and the tentacles rip at his neck, grasp him almost lovingly, why can't he move…  
            Somehow, he forces his hand to move, to rip those things out of him, no matter the blood spatter because in that instant, he knows he's dying, too much blood…  
            There's a knife in his hands, and he's trying to hold that head-thing away…  
            Explosions. He knows the sound of explosions. He's heard it often enough, started off a few himself…  
            And that pain. So much pain. He's been thrown around before, undergone horrific injuries, but this, this is something else…he claws at his neck, at the things invading him, stealing him, making room so they…it…he can move in…he can't breathe, and the pain…he can't even scream…

            The first time he writes it off as a long trip with no sleep. The second, he wonders if perhaps his subconscious is trying to tell him something. The thing has red eyes and fangs, but that's true for more monsters than not and doesn't really tell him anything. The third? He sees the head, this time with an attached body and a smirk, put on the mask he'd seen, and he knows, now, that it's something to do with that mask.

            Guns. He could have told them that was useless. Flamethrowers, grenade launchers, that sort of thing, sure, but guns just made vamps ornery. But no one was listening to him these days.

            He fights the head—he'll never stop thinking of it as a head, kinda like the Shredder's in the new TMNT remake, even when it actually has a body attached—but he can never change anything. And it frustrates him, more than it really should. He should've known, something whispers, he should've known, nothing ever changes, but he beats that down with a yell.

            "Bad dream?" Spike asks mildly, and Xander almost tumbles off the bed.  
            "What are you doing in here?!" he shouts, and probably would've stabbed the vampire, ally or no ally, if he'd had anything nearby.  
            Spike smirks, but Xander's gotten to know him pretty well, and he can see the worry that Spike's trying to hide behind the Big Bad persona. He's got a vampire worrying about him. That can't be good. "You've been dreaming ever since you saw that mask, or am I wrong? There's something you're not telling us. And I, for one, don't want to wait for everything to fall down before interrogating you for the truth. Secrets get people killed, ducks, which is why you're coming with me and we're going to see the man behind the curtain."  
            Ordinarily, he'd argue, because after a while he'd grown to enjoy the weird banter thing with Spike, but he nods, instead, pausing to grab the eyepatch off the bedside table. After dreams like that for however long he's been here, he's got a headache, and everything seems like too much work. Still, he can't help the thing that is possibly the most on his mind. "Would anyone even listen? No one's bothered to do anything so far."  
            "You've got me watching you when you sleep. You think that's a hobby of choice?"  
            Xander snorts, following quietly. He's tired enough, he's started to feel like he's sleepwalking, and wondering whether this is actually his life or all just some bizarre dream, which he suspects isn't really of the good.  
            Spike bursts through the doors, making the grand entrance, and Giles is on the phone, talking to one of the other Watchers gathering Slayers, probably. He looks annoyed at the intrusion, doubly because it's Spike. "I'm sorry, something's come up that I must take care of. Yes, I wish you all the best in this case, and will let you know if I become aware of anything else of consequence."  
            Xander's heard those words a hundred times. They're familiar, even a little soothing. How many times was that caused by someone or other barreling into the Head Watcher's office?  
            "Spike. …Xander. Is there something I can help you with?" The annoyance lessens slightly when he realizes that the vampire isn't alone. Xander, meanwhile, doesn't wait for an invitation to sit. He just does that and kind of drapes himself over the table next to him. Is it a bad sign that he's finding it a little comfy?  
            "Harris, here, has been dreaming about that cursed mask ever since he saw it, an' I for one don't want to wait for everything to go pear-shaped before wondering 'oh, yeah, someone here warned us about it'." It doesn't sound like Spike has joined him in sitting, but he's dozing off already and can't muster the energy to care.  
            "Xander, are you all right?" He doesn't even have to open the eye to know that Giles is cleaning his glasses. It's something, at least.  
            In order to avoid the worry, he tries to answer the question, but can only manage a mumble. Yeah, he's tired, but…  
            He can feel the fear thrill through him, which has him slightly annoyed at himself, and he tries to get up, but his body's not listening. The harder he tries, the quicker he fades, and the alarmed voices quickly fade.


	3. House of Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander's dreams are a bit strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What should my update schedule look like? I could try to keep posting chapters and writing to catch up every day. Given how busy I tend to be, though, I'm not sure I could keep that up. Should I instead do a weekly thing so I'm at least likely to have written something that week, just so there are no update breaks? Put in your two cents or however many you feel like, viewers!  
> ~Dreamer~

           "Feel the cheese. Be the cheese."  
            "I don't want to be cheese," he responds, before the question of what exactly is going on pops into his head. He opens his eye to see that one guy with the cheese, glasses and all, in the middle of examining his head to try to figure out exactly what arrangement of American cheese slices would best match his complexion, or something, and instantly he backs up, hands getting a little dirty on the floor.  
            "A-actually, I'd rather know what's going on." He pauses. "If I stand up and suddenly I'm on a world on fire and there's a wizard guy talking to me, I'll really know I've cracked."  
            The guy examines him thoughtfully, then shakes his head. "Some people don't appreciate cheese." And suddenly, he's gone.  
            "Strange guy," he remarks. To his relief, it's not Daltron 7. Of course, that means that he has to actually work out where here is and what he's doing here. It resembles…well, nothingness, to be honest. Is this limbo? If so, how did he get here, because the last thing he remembers…  
            What is the last thing he remembers, anyway? Before waking up in this weird place.  
            "I'm not hyperventilating. I'm not hyperventilating." He pauses. "I'm not."  
            Then he realizes while he's been concentrating on not panicking—  
            yeah that little lie it doesn't mean much  
            the surroundings have been gaining solidity, like colors running together if you mess around with paint, watercolor paint, except there's no yucky mess at the end  
            It's one of those Japanese places, he's standing outside, at the garden, and his feet are bare. It feels nice, and a few petals—sakura, his mind corrects him, even though what—  
            The smell. Peaceful. He's safe here, safer than he's been in a while, but it's necessary, he needs to be here, he needs  
            The door. He needs to open the door. He pauses, takes a deep breath, because it'll change  
            Just for a second, it's not a door, it's a mirror, and he can see his reflection flickering like ripples in really clear pond before  
            Someone took the etch-a-sketch and started shaking it violently. At first, he just watches in pained shock as everything begins to move, because it's so pretty, who would do  
            Xander. Xander, are you  
this, it's  
            Xander! Wetness, splashing on his cheek.  
he starts to flop around too, suddenly he's just a rag doll or a marionette being flung around in a little doll's house  
            Xander!  
he falls  
            and his eyes spring open to see Willow, staring at him with tears in her eyes. Instantly, he frowns, because that's not a good look on her. "I warned you that Old Yeller dies in that movie," he tries to joke weakly, but as he's saying realizes it's nowhere near his best material. Still, she basically smothers him.  
            "Don't do that, Xander," she scolds him, and her voice cracks. It might be ice cream time, but he won't complain if he can snag some too.  
            "What, joke around?" She smiles. It's a wavery, watery smile, but it's real, and that's what matters. "No, seriously, Wils, I've got no idea what I did."  
            "You basically collapsed. Giles had to use a spell to make sure that you actually slept for a bit, and then we made you a charm bag. But then you weren't coming out and we thought you were in a coma and I was really scared. Giles has been frantically calling people so at least he had something to do but all I could do was stare at your face and wonder whether or not you'd actually ever wake up and you really, really scared me, you jerk." Somehow, Willow's talking faster than she usually does, which is kind of impressive. She's a bit hysterical, then.  
            "Sorry about that." He paused. "I feel better now, though. Thanks."  
            "How can I be mad at you when you're apologizing and thanking me?" He's tempted to grin and apologize again, just for the sake of irony, but instead he opens his arms, and Willow basically jumps into the comforting hug that he's gotten really, really good at.  
            It's kind of nice, honestly, in a really weird way, because lately Willow's been so busy doing Slayer Organization stuff and he's been in Africa, and his little Willow's all growed up, so a lot of the time it doesn't even feel like she really needs him anymore. She's crying into his left shoulder, which itches a little. Still, she's overreacting a little. Does it have anything to do with what they'd called him back for in the first place? He hadn't really questioned it before now, but it'd occurred to him and wasn't going away.  
            "By the way, favorite witch of mine, do you happen to know why I was called back from Africa? I figured it was all part of The Plan of The White Wizards, but no one's asked me to do anything and I'm feeling a little...un-busy." The dreams don't help. They'd changed from the Anya's Death Reruns, but he couldn't really say this channel was much of an improvement. And if all he has left to do is engage in staring contests with an admittedly sinister stone mask that he doesn't trust an inch...well, he's probably losing what is left of his sanity in short order.  
            She hits his shoulder, lightly, but he still mock-winces in response. "With everything that's been going on with you, you expect us to send you somewhere you could die?"  
            He had to shrug to that. He couldn't argue with that part.  
            "And you've got a lot of shows to catch up on so we can talk about them for hours and hours. You've been in Africa for a long time, Xander, and I missed you." With the playful frown, Willow was clearly trying to lighten the mood. A ploy that he recognized very well from familiarity. He'd used it probably more times than he could even remember.  
            She's not directly lying to him. She's not good enough at that sort of thing to be able to pull it off. Especially to him. He knows her too well. Both of her responses are the truth.  
            But if she's not redirecting as much as she possibly can, he's Captain Kirk.  
            He doesn't want to let her know that he's noticed, though. He plasters on the goofy smile and throws off a salute that even the very lingering remains of the soldier can't fault, along with a professional "Yes ma'am!"  
            She giggles, but doesn't immediately move. Her conscience is tearing at her, which immediately throws even more fuel on his curiosity raging within. Eventually she speaks again. "I'm not sure exactly why you were brought back, but I'm trying to get Giles to explain it all to me."  
            Each word is carefully chosen, enunciated in an odd way that tells she's put a ton of thought into this. He hugs her again and waves as she makes her way out of the Slayer's infirmary, keeping up the goofy smile just long enough so she doesn't see his skepticism. The second she's gone, he falls back on the bed with a huff of breath, strangely again wide awake. Part of him wants to scoff at everything she just said, call it all a lie, ask her to come back and explain herself, but that would just cause her unnecessary trauma. She thinks she got away with it, and he's willing to let her keep believing that. And given her word choice, it wasn't really a lie, anyway. A careful truth, disguising the truth, maybe. Truth masquerading as truth. Genius. Nobody would suspect. Expect him, apparently. Still, though, he's going to have to do a little digging on his own. Anything that big, as Spike kept insisting, wasn't anything good.


	4. Idea and Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander stares creepily at a mask and finds a useful course of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST OF CHARACTERS FIRST APPEARING IN CHAPTER 3  
> Andrew Wells-A reformed warlock/supervillain nerd that is now a Watcher.  
> Wesley Wyndam-Price-He is a former Watcher that was kicked out of the previous Watcher's Council. He did a brief stint as a Rogue Demon Hunter before joining up with Angel Investigations, run by none other than Angel. He also followed Angel and the others in the pseudo-detective agency into Wolfram & Hart, Firm of the Evil Demon Lawyers, ostensibly to harness the resources of the LA branch to do good rather than evil. Considering a number of things that happened during their employment, this may have been but a mere foolish pipe dream. Wesley, however, is still very useful when it comes to research.

            "I believe you, you know." Xander finally tears his gaze away from the mask to see Andrew, as always trying to appear useful and sympathetic.  
            He sighs and looks back at the mask. By this point, it appears to be taunting him. The thought had occurred to him, and since he kept expecting bloodshed to begin any second while it was out in the open, he decided to actually follow it for once. "Why?"  
            "Anything anyone's this obsessed with can't be good," the Watcher states with ready conviction.  
            For once, Andrew has a point. "Like Mollari and the Glory of the Centauri Republic?"  
            That draws a laugh from the other Watcher, who sits, trying to be casual, on the nearby step. "Have you seen Mista Morden?" Not a bad imitation, either.  
            "No, I don't think so. But if I do anytime soon, I'll be sure to tell him I want his head on a pike." He narrows his gaze at the mask, but if it's smirking, it's sure not to tell him anything.  
            After a few seconds, the silence is broken again. "Actually, I meant a little more like Pippin with the Palintír."  
            Xander reacts reflexively. "I don't want to touch it!" Then why are you here? his brain asks sarcastically, and when he finds the answer, he hesitates for a second because it sounds kind of neurotic, but it's an answer and it's the truth and it certainly isn't messing around with dangerous artifacts that apparently only he thinks are dangerous, so he might as well… "I'm keeping an eye on it to make sure it doesn't try any funny business."  
            "If we weren't in the business we are, I'd wonder about your sanity. As it is, I think you're probably actually saner than the rest of us, which is kind of scary if you think about it too much." Andrew didn't seem about to leave, so it was probably as good a time as any to try to wriggle some information out of him.  
            "Could we at least move it so that fledgling Slayers don't trip over it? I don't feel comfortable with it anywhere near the people I care about, but we could at least get it out of the open." Xander realized what he'd just said, and added hastily, "You know. With…something that doesn't require touching it because something in me says that's a really bad idea."  
            "Listening to voices inside your head now, are we?" Andrew laughs, but he doesn't actually appear all that amused. "Sorry, I don't think so. I mean, Giles made a few phone calls, and that was it."  
            "Frell." His anger surprised even him, but after nearly a month of poor sleep, even happy-go-saving-the-world Xander Harris was getting a little on edge. "Sorry. Why am I getting ignored, again?"  
            Andrew shrugged apologetically, though he looked a little wary of causing another outburst. "Um…no offense, but you're not the magic guy. And none of the magic guys and gals have noticed anything. So…"  
            Xander stared away, at the floor. "I…I just feel helpless. Like, I know this is going to cause a lot of trouble, and people I care about are going to get hurt, but there's nothing I can do because no one will listen."  
            "There's always something you can do. Even if it's staring creepily at a mask for hours."  
            Goofy, sure, but it worked. "Thanks, Andrew."

            Xander woke for the first time in weeks oddly unsleepy. All fear and confusion and just general freaking out had vanished from his mind. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember what, exactly, his dreamself had said as a pep talk. He could use that more on a regular basis.  
            Long experience showed him that research was the best response to vastly powerful, unknown artifacts. Okay, yeah, so most of the time he fell asleep or read comic books or sniped at Spike, rather than actually help, but common sense, as well as reading those selfsame comic books, had taught him the precise necessity of research.  However, he wasn't Research Guy. And neither Willow nor Giles was taking him seriously. Andrew, being a former evil warlock and all, wasn't a bad choice for trying to figure out exactly how an evil mask might be out to kill them, but he might cave under pressure, especially if he thought it was in Xander's best interest.  
            Still, someone was available. Someone who, as he wasn't part of the new Watcher's Council, would have no real reason to discuss his research with them. Especially if he points out that no one had really been listening to him. He has a feeling Wesley Wyndam-Price, former Watcher, knows that feeling all too well, and would be sympathetic. After he gets some real information, well, that's the point where he can throw everything he'd learned in his friend's faces, see if they listened then.  
            A few years ago, he would've worried about being overheard. As it was, well...the Watcher's package was pretty cushy. Of course, old-fashioned things like nosy Slayers were still a problem, so he actually went outside the manor for the first time in a long while. He went into the nearby village, after a cheerful wave and goodbye that had Willow smiling for the first time in what seemed like forever, and wandered until he found a lonely enough spot to make his call.  
            He dials, and it rings a few times before he hears a voice on the other end. "Good afternoon. This is Wesley. How may I help you?"  
            "Hey, Wesley." He's grinning. These stuffy British types never change, and it's nice. Comforting, in the midst of everything.  
            He can even imagine the frown. "Who is this?"  
            Mock hurt creeps into his voice—he can't help the tease, and it's a lot easier, now, than it was before. "It's Xander." Losing the eye was painful, terrifying, and traumatizing, but after the initial shock, it was actually good for his confidence, however that worked. And that meant he didn't have to feel as awkward anymore.  
            Wesley, it seemed, hadn't been so lucky. "A-ah. Xander. What can I do for you?"  
            Now was the part for correctly phrasing this. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to do a little research on something for me. I ran across something that I...just got an evil feeling from and I want to know exactly how much damage it could do if it fell in the wrong hands."  
            He can feel the quirked eyebrow from here. "Oh?"  
            He nods, then realizes Wesley probably can't see him and rolls an eye. "The thing is, I got this horrible premonition of danger feeling from the thing. No one else has noticed anything, and since I'm not exactly the guy wandering around with a wand or staff or crystal ball around here..."  
            "They don't find you a very credible witness," Wesley finishes, sounding intrigued.  
            "Yeah. I'd like you to find some evidence that I can show to them proving that it should be locked away in one of the Council's securest vaults. Barring that, evidence that I obviously am overdue for a vacation. Not knowing is..." He trailed off, because, again, Wesley was a grown man able to fill in the blanks himself.  
            "I understand—although I warn you, because I work for a firm now, I can't do this gratis. I will need to be paid." The tone also stated: My time is valuable. Not that Xander had expected anything else when he heard Tall, Dark and Broody and company were now running Wolfram and Hart, LA Edition. They might not have 'sold out for money'—in fact, the 'sold out' bit was a debated point since the very beginning—but if only for the company they kept and appearance's sake, they had to at least ask. And evil...if the First was any indication, it did well at creeping into your mind and influencing you. Asking anyone working at that place probably wasn't the best idea, but Xander couldn't see any other options.  
            "Yeah. I get lost at where, exactly, I'm supposed to spend a Watcher's salary anyway." That, of course, was nowhere close to true. Comic books, DVDs, memorabilia... Still, he hadn't really been able to spend it much when he'd been in Africa, and since then he'd yet to find his spending limit.  
            A laugh from Wesley's end. Good. People in general, especially British people, needed to get startled into laughter more. After a moment, he explained, "I'd always believed food was the indulgence of choice. And I believe Rupert is being far more generous than the previous Watcher's Council—not that it's hard, and when one has far fewer Watchers to spend it on..."  
            "That's true." Sobering, maybe, but he couldn't deny it as being truer than true. "Okay, I have a few pictures of it I got to send you. They're not great pictures, but I figured I'd be noticed if I tried to smuggle in a camera. Given the fangs and the general vampire-ey appearance, if a bit more human-like than I'd expect, I thought it might be some kind of vampire artifact. In which case, ex-Council would probably know a lot more about it than others I might ask. Oh, yeah, another thing. I want you working on this personally. Don't delegate, even the small stuff. You're okay, but..."  
            "I can understand your...reticence to trust my department. Even I'm not sure whether I can trust them, and I'm their boss." A pause. "I might have to put this request on hold briefly, depending on whether anything else comes up, but I'll make sure to notify you if I do."  
            "Thanks, Wesley." He hung up, and breathed deeply. Air was of the good.


	5. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feeling of uselessness and restlessness returns to Xander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahn or Anya will be explained in-story soon.  
> CHARACTER FIRST APPEARING IN CHAPTER 4  
> Dawn Summers-The sister of Buffy Summers, the oldest Slayer. She was basically raised by the makeshift Scooby family, and tends to be mischievous, which is either encouraged or discouraged depending on who you're talking to at the moment.

            And thus, Wesley began his calling at odd hours. At first, he didn't really have any information to give, and was just calling once every two days just to reaffirm that fact.  
            "Why do you keep doing this while I'm trying to sleep?" he asked once, petulant. After all, his sleep schedule was still a little out of whack, even with the spell Giles cast. The dreams had gotten even more bizarre, but kept fleeing out of his grasp now, which just annoyed him more. He'd have mentioned that, or that he felt his mind was desperately trying to tell him something and was failing due to the block, but didn't want to give them any more reason for them to worry. The Head Watcher was, oddly, biding his time on following up on Spike's suspicions and his own collapse, but maybe they'd just thought it was a nervous breakdown or something? But, no, they were concerned about something else, too. And they didn't want to tell him. How typical. Though, maybe they'd thought it was something about Ahn, and...  
            Suddenly, all the anger drained, and he just felt tired. Tired enough that he almost didn't hear Wesley's reply. "Do you want to draw attention, or not? I'm doing my best to not be obvious about it, but if you'd rather..."  
            Apparently, he also wasn't the only person feeling snippy. "N-nah, that's okay." It also turned out that Wesley hadn't really anything else to say, which almost got Xander laughing hysterically. He really needed some sleep soon. Or answers. That could be his problem too. He quickly said goodbye before he could start, then dug out one of his old funnies collections from under his bed.

            Generally wandering around and making a nuisance of himself was a hobby he hadn't indulged for a while, so there was no real reason not to do it now. He liked to know whatever house he was in, and having a good idea where his family forged in fire were had always made him feel a little better, even as he wondered about mother hen instincts. Still, sitting in his room waiting for Wesley's calls or trying to figure out how to feel useful here when he wasn't doing an actual job wasn't the way to go either. The next thing you knew, he'd start losing his self-esteem again, and then he'd start brooding and dressing in black and then he'd be Mr. Broody Batvamp, helping the helpless, and that was of the bad. He'd seen the way that went, and it was of the bad. It was better to stay off that path entirely.  
            He found Dawn raiding the fridge. Older brother instincts that he'd only had a chance to practice with families not his own sprang to life. He shrugged them aside for the moment. "I'll just mention that you probably shouldn't eat too many of those. Buffy's practicing cooking again, or so I hear."  
            "Why do you think I'm trying to make sure I don't have much room?" Dawn grimaced, then grinned unrepentantly. "I'll share some of my spoils if you don't tell on me."  
            He made a show of thinking about it, forcing her to pause mid-cake slice. She glared at him, but he slowed down even more, perversely. "...Okay. Your skill in bribery has overcome my sense of morals."  
            "I'm committing those words to my memory," Dawn commented placidly. "Milk?"  
            "Sure, if it's not gone bad yet. It's hard to predict Slayers." Sometimes they ate everything. Sometimes, they wanted to eat other things, and so refused to touch what was in there. Not that he'd had much experience with Slayers, plural, persay, but living in the Summers House and Bastion Against The Evil with Slayer Potentials for a year had certainly taught him what they were like en masse.  
            "You're talking to the sister of one, here. I've given up trying to understand Buffy." Dawn poured him a cup. It wasn't as good a combination as, say, milk and cookies, but it wasn't bad either.  
            They ate unworried by anyone who might happen to wander in. "Your skill in blackmail, too. Seriously. At least you're not shoplifting anymore, right?"  
            The silence drew a sterner look. "You're not, right?"  
            "No, no, I'm not! Geez!" She sighed. "I'm even allowed in all the shops. It's kind of boring."  
            He half wanted to glare, but instead just mustered a sigh. "You know, I know you know the comic tropes as well as I do. Saying that automatically means that something's going to happen soon, and it's probably going to be the bad kind of exciting. Why would you jinx us like that?"  
            "Oh, fine, blame it all on Dawn." She deflated and ate more of the cake before she perked right up again. "But at least it'll be interesting. I mean, don't try to trick me. I know you're bored and listless because they haven't given you anything to do. You could hang out with me and write it somewhere as babysitting or something. And I'll even complain loudly about it so no one suspects. It'll be the best disguise."  
            Poor Dawnie. So much was going on that everyone was leaving her alone. He knew the feeling. Still, he could only really manage an amused grin and a shake of the head in response.  
            Her better mood didn't disappear. "You can at least think about it, right? Please?"  
            "I'm thinking about it. I can't tell you anything else." She squealed and threw herself around his neck. He laughed, but hugged her back, then stated seriously, "You have icing everywhere. If we want to get rid of the evidence, we might want to do it quick."  
            "I like the sound of co-conspirators." She returned to her seat and began scarfing again. It takes her a couple tries to get her next thought out and understandable, since she keeps trying to talk with her mouth full. "Well, you really can't blame me if anything happens."  
            "How's that?" He doesn't really care about being rude, but what's the point of speech if you don't even get your point across? That's that language was invented for, anyway, right?  
            "Well, the stone mask thing, right?" A sudden chill runs down his spine. How can he express this nameless dread in his heart? It's like...he knows what it's capable of, but he's never seen it before, other than in his dreams. "I heard about you freaking out about that. This feeling of yours, it really happened?"  
            Someone else might believe him? Now if only they'd actually talk to the ones who weren't listening. "...Yeah. And I can't explain it, but. Argh."  
            "I can steal it and then we can put it somewhere safe," she mentions offhandedly, treating it almost like a joke, like a game, and it definitely isn't either of those.  
            "No!" He makes an effort to calm down, since he's startled her, maybe even scared her, and that's not exactly the point here. "No, don't...don't touch it. Don't go near it." That's not helping. He sounds a bit insane. Maybe that's the reason that no one's been listening to him. It all sounds insane, but then, they've been dealing with the insane for just how long now? "I...I mean, touch probably isn't going to activate it, or wake it up, or whatever. But still, it's better to be safe because we have no idea, right?"  
            She looks a lot less freaked out than she had been, but there's still a weird look in her eyes that he can't quite decipher. "Yeah, that's true. I mean, nothing good ever came of 'hey, I wonder what this does. I should poke it.'" She gets up, cleaning off her face and dumping the plates in the sink. "I hope you figure that out soon."  
            She leaves before he can respond, and he's left to stare at the dishes, knowing it'd probably be best if he cleaned them, too, so at least no one gets blamed for them taking food. "I hope so, too," he whispers to the soapy dishes, which probably don't care.


	6. Commoners and Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander engages in a little wordplay and overhears something disturbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER FIRST APPEARING IN CHAPTER 5  
> Buffy Summers-As the oldest living Slayer, she has the most experience, but hoped that the introduction of more Slayers would mean less responsibility, not more. She would have rather spent her teen years as a normal girl. It should be noted that she came the closest out of all previous Slayers, however, as she had friends, dated, went to school, had a job, went shopping, and many other things that she'd consider normal during her younger years with saving the world and killing monsters as a sort of side job. Buffy doesn't always realize how good she has it. Having an unusual, not control-obsessed Watcher probably helped.

            Xander somehow finds himself into what oddly (given the number of Slayers there are wandering about the place) seems to be an uninhabited area of the mansion. He hears something in what looks like an abandoned room and nearly has a heart attack before he realizes it's pointless freaking out if you didn't even know what you were freaking out about. He opens the door, which makes an appropriately eerie noise, to find a grumpy Buffy trying to clean and organize random stuff that likely came with the mansion into boxes. She looks up and her moody face softens slightly as she waves before she frowns again. "What does sorting things have to do with training? And do I really need training, anymore? You'd think Giles would worry about all these new Slayers who haven't a clue."  
            "Wax on, wax off," Xander states philosophically, squatting down to look at the work she's done so far. It isn't much. She's probably spent more time complaining than actually doing anything. On the other hand, it's not something he'd mind doing. He likes working with his hands, feeling constructive, being able to do something, not mindlessly, but with a concentrated mind, filtering out all the other dumb stuff his mind liked to do most of the time. "I'd offer to help, but I'm not sure if that's part of the lesson."  
            Buffy snorted. "Giles isn't exactly my idea of a martial arts guru, Xander."  
            He tried to think about that, really tried, and had trouble repressing the grin. "...Yeahhh, mine either. But if you think about anything else...I mean, he's an older wise guy who teaches you how to use kicks and whatnot on your foes, and if he really puts a mind to it, he can kick some serious a-" He catches a disapproving look from the blonde, and quickly amends it to, "...butt, if he wanted to. Weird as that is to think about."  
            "There's one difference between movies and real life, though..." she begins, and is met with a wide-eyed Xander.  
            "Buff, for the sake of my sanity and worldview, don't finish that sentence. Everything I know will fall apart. I'll have my own little apocalypse, right here." He looks pretty serious about that.  
            She just rolls her eyes. "...is that, eventually, movies end. Whereas I'm stuck here. I'm not Queen of the Slayers. I'm not a normal girl, now that I can be. I'm cleaning the random contents of a random room in a mansion that we just bought so we'd have room to be Slayer HQ."  
            "No! No, Buffy, how could you?! All my certainties...fading. I'm...My brain is...shutting...dowwwnn..." he states theatrically and then falls, a puppet with its strings cut. Xander's had a lot of experience falling, so he knows how to do it so it won't hurt that badly. If anything, he'll have maybe a couple bruises, which are about nothing on the scale of pain.  
            He feels an unsympathetic tapping at his face and squints open the right eye, then grins. "Do I get a fairytale kiss?"  
            "In your dreams, Xander," she states, then smiles just about as playfully back.  
            "So, still got dreams of the normal life, huh? With a job and everything?" Some of that might be difficult, especially after she'd been declared dead the once. Of course, that was in America, but still, they probably checked that sort of thing. She hadn't even finished school, now that he thinks about it.  
            She sighs. "Yeah. I mean, it's not really realistic. I don't want to work in fast food ever again. I've been scarred for life for that. Probably the afterlife or reincarnation or whatever else Giles is muttering about this week, too." She smiles. Okay, so maybe it wasn't just him trying to avoid the depression.  
            "Well, remember this. Relax, we're all counting on you. No pressure or anything." He's anticipating her hitting his shoulder and rolls with it slightly, so her super strength at least doesn't dislocate his shoulder. To some extent, she'd probably never get used to that.  
            "Well, I'd ask you about the mask, but you're probably sick of talking about it." She half-heartedly begins picking up a few dusty books and thumping them into a box.  
            Xander makes a face and looks away. "Thanks for that. Just...stay on your toes, okay?"  
            She shakes her head. He can tell exactly how enthusiastic she is about this task, because she immediately abandons any more halfhearted efforts. "And deprive you of the pleasure of saying 'I told you so'?"  
            Even she's not taking this very seriously. Though that might be just because she's trying not to take anything seriously at the moment. "That's not how it works. I can say that if we're prepared, too. I don't like being right if it's something bad, either."  
            She huffs out a frustrated breath, but smiles brilliantly anyway. "I'm always ready for anything, Mr. Rain-On-My-Parade. Leave me to my misery." To prove her commitment to her assignment, she begins rhythmically thumping the books into boxes again. He's about to say that she should probably spread it out more, since boxes of books are heavy, but remembers that this is a Slayer he's talking about and promptly aborts that comment.  
            "Doesn't misery love company?" he teases, but allows himself to be shooed out anyway. People keep bringing up the Stone Mask, and it kills every single conversation dead. Not undead-dead, the kind that actually stay in the earth like they're supposed to.

            He's still a little shaken, so wandering around and finding someone else he knows to talk to probably isn't the best idea. And he's been curious about how Slayer training works, so...why not go and watch for a little while?  
            He nearly goes around a corner when he hears some unfamiliar girls' voices talking, and something tells him to stop.  
            "So...I kind of get the pet vamp teaching us, and the witch and the ex-warlocks. But why do they even bother keeping the humans around?" ...What.  
            "I totally get what you mean. They're too weak to tell us what to do or teach us anything. Take the cyclops. From what I hear, he spends most of his time staring at a weird mask or sitting in his room stewing in his own impotence. What must it be like, to feel that powerless?"  
            "I wouldn't want to know. Being a Slayer is so much more awesome. And I'm pretty sure the wimpy one is just lying about being a warlock, too. I'd believe it of the old man, but him?"  
            "Yeah, Andrew isn't much, is he? And why won't they let us have any of the awesome stuff? I figured for sure that since it was some sort of top secret place that they'd have guns just lying around."  
            "Well...I kinda get part of it. I mean, from what I hear, vamps don't really flinch from guns much. But I'm sure they do damage to some of the demons at least, right?"  
           ...Since when was he stumbling across some of Magneto's followers here? He waits until he was absolutely certain they were gone, then turned the corner. Yeah, nothing in sight.  
            He'd think about reporting it, but everyone was already ignoring him. Still, he'd keep an eye on those two. If he could figure out who they were, that was.  
            Wandering the mansion wasn't doing wonders for his level of calm. Still, he might as well go ahead and make sure that not everyone here was a lunatic.  
            He wanders in, and a few of the Slayers giggle. Spike glances up from where he's demonstrating a hold on one of the Slayers and pauses. "Harris! Think the Watcher was looking for you!"  
            Of course. That'd just have to be today, too. His brain shouldn't have even come up with the topic in the first place.  
            "Thanks!" He waves, at least partially reassured by the appearance that at least some of the new Slayers are sane. He'd make himself scarce, if he really thought he could dodge this any more. They'd already been patient, anyway.


	7. Scrutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles has a talk with Xander.

            "And how are you sleeping now?" He'd been half asleep the last time he'd been in the Head Watcher's office. He couldn't remember it all being this intimidating, all pristine and carefully organized, and....well, soulless. It had no personality. It being Giles' office, you'd think there'd be musty old tomes everywhere and maybe a tea set out or something, but if there was any of that, it was neatly tucked away in a drawer or otherwise hidden away.  
            Which didn't help put him at ease in the slightest. Okay, yeah, so the G-man might have said something about Americans and being slobs after cleaning his glasses and pleading with him to 'stop using that dreadful nickname', but he'd been in the library and Giles' apartment and the Magic Box, and at least all of those had the feeling of being lived in and a weird sort of British comforting feel, and this didn't feel like that at all. It reminded him of the previous Watchers, the ones who died. And he could still be sorry for their deaths and think they were stuck-up jerks at the same time. He could multitask, really.  
            They'd been impersonal and had thought of Slayers more like tools than actual people. Now, with so many Slayers instead of just one at a time, maybe, connecting with each and every one of them might be difficult, so crazies like the ones he'd overheard earlier today might just slip through the cracks, but everyone here could at least make an effort and say they were available to anyone who wanted to talk.  
            Maybe he should make it a personal mission to just sneak in stuff so that people could feel they weren't on trial or something. Of course, finding a time when Giles was likely to not be in his office would probably be difficult, but he'd found an important quest, and he'd figure it out, if only for the mental health and well-being of anyone who might be summoned like this.  
            And he'd been staring into space for a bit. Not good.  
            "Better, but there's a lot of catching up to do. I'm still pretty tired." There, a decent answer. On one hand, not telling one of the people most knowledgeable on the subject of magic about magic-type symptoms was taking chances with health that were really kind of stupid. On the other hand, Willow was almost-lying to him, and Giles was probably involved, too. They weren't listening to him about the mask, and they'd called him back for a reason that no one would tell him, and were just generally behaving oddly. The dreams were weird, and he was probably behaving a little strangely himself, but he had a good explanation that was pretty obvious for that one. The mask was up to no good and no one would even consider that for a moment, and he was kind of tired. People were weird when they hadn't had enough sleep. No one else had really bothered to make it obvious or explain anything. Besides, he was beginning to feel like this was one mystery he was supposed to solve.  
            "Mmm. And the matter for which Spike escorted you here?" British-speak was so polite. Actually, since Spike was British, too, and he went out of his way to not be polite, maybe that was just Giles. The correct verb was probably more along the lines of 'dragged', even if he hadn't had the energy to actually put up any resistance. Even if he'd have come anyway. Eventually.  
            "...You mean, the dreams?" He fidgeted, restless, hardly able to sit still. Could he actually destroy it, with a good old fashioned hammer or something? That was beginning to sound like a better and better idea, but then again, some artifacts were tricky and released a malevolent spirit or curse or something like that. What should he say here?  
            Giles fixed him with an unamused glare. "Xander, I need to know, in terms you'll understand, 'exactly what is going on with you right now'. With the way you're acting and some of the other changes we've noticed, we're very concerned. I'd like to think you can talk to us about any problems you might be experiencing or your life in general."  
            Xander bit back his first instinct. Things in his life tended to belong in one of three categories: things he didn't want to burden others with, things that his friends didn't want to hear, and things he talked about, but only about half the time actually got a listening ear in return. Of course, this in particular kind of belonged in all three categories, a first as far as he could remember, but saying so would only hurt their feelings and he didn't want to do that.  
            He could play it off, at least a little, and keep working at it on his own. Of course, they'd just write it off as stress and not pay any more attention, but...did he want that?  
            No. He didn't want them panicking, but he didn't want them writing him off entirely, either. He might sound like a madman now, but if the thought that 'what if he might be right' stayed in their heads, then if anything actually happened they'd react a lot quicker and it might save their lives.  
            He sighed heavily and stared at the arm of his chair. "I...well, I'm pretty sure part of it is about Ahn." Why was this suddenly feeling like a visit to the psychiatrist's? He didn't have to look up to feel the sudden compassion on Giles' face. "When I was out there, I didn't have time to think about Anya. I was doing something important, saving people somehow, even if all that meant was just finding one particular Slayer and warning her about the fact that demons would be after her. This is the first chance after she..."  He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the stinging in his eye. "That I've just had nothing to do. I sit around, and I remember that she's gone. And I remember the mess I made of the wedding and the fact that I hurt her so badly that she didn't want to try again, and that I won't even get the chance to try to begin to apologize, even if there's nothing I really could do to fix it." His stare is bleak, helpless, now. He feels the tug of drink to lose the pain in the rain of oblivion, but he's not going to turn into his dad, not now, not ever.  
            He manages a smile at Giles. "It's just something I've gotta work through. I'm pretty damn proud of her, though. She died saving people and that's got to count for something, right? Even though she didn't have anything left. She was just normal like me. I hope that when I die, and I really hope that's far in the future, I can die half as well as she did."  
            Another deep breath. He's not going to cry. He cried at the funeral. "Still, though, that doesn't explain what I felt when I saw that Stone Mask. It's...I dunno. Like it's cursed. It's that feeling you get when you see the archaeologists going into the cursed tomb, and you're yelling at them to not go in there, that's dangerous, they're going to die, but they do it anyway because it's a movie and they can't hear you. Maybe I overreacted a little, but...the feeling hasn't gone away. It comes back every time I think about the thing."  
            Giles actually gets up from behind his desk and comes over. He tries to pull off a hug, but it just ends up being super awkward. Xander can't stop the helpless giggle, though, and a long minute passes by. Eventually, Giles backs away, probably embarrassed by how badly he'd failed, but then, it probably was a bit more American than he'd practice on a regular basis. At least this time he sits in one of the chairs, rather than behind the desk, which is a lot less intimidating.  
            "If you need to talk, feel free to drop by. Unfortunately, rebuilding is quite a lot of work, but I'd be happy to help. I'm sure we all miss her to varying degrees, and it's never easy to lose someone you care about." The harmless librarian persona is back, and it seems that Xander, for once, managed to say the exactly right thing. "On the subject of the mask, I've made inquiries, but had yet to find anything. I hadn't considered the thought of a curse, so I can direct my search in a new path and possibly find something.  Also, perhaps it is wise to relocate the mask to somewhere less out in the open." Xander opened his mouth, but before he could even speak Giles chuckled. "Yes, yes. I will refrain from touching it with my bare hands. I've been told that's been a particular concern of yours."  
            Xander smiled sheepishly. "Thanks." He paused, and now was as good a time to ask as any. "Why was I called out of Africa?" Perhaps less blunt was a good idea, but this putting thought into what you say before you say it thing was hard.  
            Instantly, the open attitude was gone, though the smile was probably meant to convey the impression Giles was still sharing a lot more than he normally would. "I didn't tell Willow this, but I wondered if, perhaps, you had volunteered for duties in Africa simply because you didn't want to think about your grief. It's not healthy, so I thought perhaps a forced vacation might be in order."  
            "Trying to figure out if I can swim by throwing me in the ocean, huh?" An offended look began to cross the man's face, and he quickly added, "...Thanks, though. I probably need it, even if it hurts. But that's life for you, isn't it?"  
            "Well, exactly. Though, er, I would say that it's not all that way. The bad and good are both parts of life we just have to learn to deal with..."  
            "G-man, I didn't need a lecture!" He grins playfully. "Besides, I'm well aware that there are good things in life, such as chocolate, friends, and cheesy science fiction."  
            "I'm glad we rate somewhere on your list," Giles states dryly. Just then, the phone rings. "Do you need...?"  
            "Nah, nah, go on. I was someone on the other end once. It might be important." He mock salutes the Head Watcher as he leaves, making a mental note that they're still lying about something and he should probably add the possibility of 'curse' to the list of things Wesley's looking into.


	8. A Clue at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley continues researching, at first with no results, then finds a clue that may help solve the mystery. A calm before the storm.

            "You know, these pictures are almost useless. You couldn't...perhaps, chip off a piece of the mask for analysis, or potentially just steal it and send me the artifact?" Being in its presence would probably help, especially since Wesley could probably do magical analysis on the mask by then. Still, sending a potentially really dangerous mask to Wolfram & Hart, Evil Lawyers Incorporated, sounded like a really, really terrible idea. And the plan held another flaw.  
            "I'm not touching the thing." The aversion might seem completely ridiculous, but it had a good reason. Probably. ...Maybe.  
            "Pity. Well, it makes sense, of course. I'm not sure that it wouldn't end up in one of our vaults." Actually, the more important part here is that it doesn't get used, but fair point. Wesley was almost always a little more ruthless than Giles. He tended to subscribe to the 'ends justify the means' worldview. "Well, at least you managed to get good pictures of the inscription on the back, though I have yet to translate it or even figure out what language it's from. It's rather esoteric." Xander bites back the reply of 'I hadn't noticed, thanks', and seconds later also stifles a yawn. He's been sleeping marginally better, when he can sleep. It's probably the obsessing, but then, if it's got the possibility to hurt this makeshift family that's more dear to him than his regular family, then he really can't help it.

            "It appears vaguely South American in origin, though the fangs are a unique feature that I haven't seen on any of the other stone masks of the region. The script isn't that of the Olmecs, Ancient Aztec, or Mayan, however. I'm not aware of any vampiric cults in the area and time period. Most tend to be a modern phenomenon, despite what you'd expect. I believe it's likely an impact of popular literature. Though this is more intricate than what you'd expect from a number of cultures at the time period it appears to be from. Of course, I can't verify its age without a sample, but..." Wesley continued to ramble on, unaware that Xander was lightly snoring, phone protectively cradled in hand.             His other hand was being used to prop up his head on the desk.

            "Your middle name is Lavelle, isn't it?" Wesley asked without preamble.  
            Xander groaned. "Could you forget you read that?"  
            "No." Wesley almost sounded so petulant that Xander took the phone away from his ear to stare at it for a moment before replacing it. "…magical legacy."  
            He'd probably get mad, but that part he'd missed was actually probably important. "Could you repeat that?"  
            Apparently Watchers were masters of the all-suffering sigh. "I was saying that, by the sound of the dreams and the fact that you're the only one who appears to have noticed anything, it sounds like it's a bloodline magical legacy. There's a reason I was looking into your family, and it wasn't for personal amusement."  
            Why did Wesley think he'd find—oh, yeah, because he didn't talk about his family. Ever. "You won't find anything. Their most distinguishing characteristic is their alcoholism."  
            "Yes, on your father's side, they're distressingly pedestrian." Now the former Watcher sounded smug. "However, I have been unable to find a single thing on your mother. Quite frankly, I'm not even certain she exists."  
            "What." She was pretty normal, too. Though if she were a runaway demon or something like that, it would actually explain a lot. Like the demon magnet thing.  
            Wesley hastened to explain that comment. "Oh, that is not to say that she's merely an illusion or something like that. Rather, it's as if someone went to a good deal of trouble to erase her past, which is a start. Were you aware that Lavelle could refer to a physical location? There are two cities named Velle in Norway and France respectively, as well as a city named Lavelle in Pennsylvania. Your father chose your name while your mother was still recovering from giving birth."  
            That wasn't surprising at all. "Let me guess, they also had a fight about that. But I'm not sure what that has to do with…"  
            "Let me finish." Now he was sounding downright testy. "According to witnesses, she was furious about his name choice, but said absolutely nothing about your middle name. A little more digging reveals that he'd found the town's name snooping around in your mother's papers. I would assume that he used that word in order to demonstrate that he had power and control, and that she could hide nothing from him. She didn't even react."  
            "Um." That…did sound a little weird. They argued about everything. But on the other hand, it might just be a coincidence…  
            "I'm aware that this might be trying to make connections between things that aren't there. On the other hand, this might be vital, which is why I'm flying to Pennsylvania tonight. If that turns out to be useless, I'll go to Norway and France." He really...was starting to get really into this, if he thought it was worth a plane flight out to the middle of nowhere.  
            "You don't have to...I mean, that's a lot of trouble...." Besides, what would he really find out there?  
            "I'm being paid, and I'm interested. In any case, I've done a lot of digging already, and I have yet to find any clues using conventional means. In order to solve this mystery, we might have to do a few unexpected things." The tone indicated that no argument would make a difference.  
            "Uh. Well. As long as this isn't that much more of a cost."  
            "Do you want answers, or don't you?" He didn't really remember Wesley being this easily annoyed before, but, on the other hand, years of working with Cordelia and Angel would probably put anyone on a short fuse. Or maybe it was just catching.  
            He hesitated for the slightest bit of time. This was getting to the point where it could change everything, but at the same time, could he live without knowing? "Yeah, I do."

            It's the Japanese place again, and he's just sitting on the wood staring at the garden. It's peaceful, petals falling around him in pretty patterns. Ordinarily, it'd be weird that he wasn't wearing socks or shoes out here, but it felt...right. Freeing.  
            He'd been too eager, earlier. It wasn't time yet. Patience, just a little bit longer. What's behind the door can wait until he's ready, too.  
            He's there for a long time, long enough that the sky goes dark and he can watch the stars begin to peek out. Obviously, not the city. He doesn't really know what it's like to not have smog clogging up the sky, but he imagines it's probably like this, with the sky so clear.  
            He feels kind of nostalgic, but does it really count as nostalgia if he wasn't really there the first time around?  
            He sees a shooting star, and wakes up in the middle of trying to come up with a wish.


	9. Promises in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander has the answers he seeks within his grasp, but feels uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is from neither JJBA nor BtVS. Feel free, as always, to leave comments about his character as well as the usual cast-does anyone not fit, does anyone seem OOC?

            He can tell that the trip wasn't actually wasted, which is a bit of a surprise, the moment he answers the phone. There's a suppressed excitement in Wesley's voice that's new.  
            "That was exactly what we needed, surprisingly enough. I was able to find a few personal items of your mother's, and some notes. I read a little through them, and I believe they might be notes on the Stone Mask. Also, the one who wrote those notes is one Jonathan Joestar."  
            He couldn't help the snort. "Joestar? That's a goofy name."  
            Wesley doesn't even pause to scorn his lack of knowledge or launch into a lecture on the history of the name. He's completely unperturbed, which means that this really was something. "That may be true, but it also happens to be the name of a number of legendary vampire fighters unsanctioned by the Council. We've never been able to find anything to substantiate the rumors, though if I'm right, it'll soon be an undisputed fact." Just history lessons didn't interest him, but if the notes actually warned of the danger of the mask...  
            "That's great. Um...was there anything to suggest who my mother...who mom was?" Of course, that was probably less important at the moment, but he still couldn't get rid of the fear and excitement at the thought.  
            The pause indicated that he probably hadn't been so successful on that front. "Not particularly, though it's possible she worked for the family or for the organization that was rumored to be highly connected to it. Unfortunately, there was no original birth certificate or anything of that kind left there."  
            Xander sighed. "Thanks. ...Oh, yeah, how'd you find it? I mean, you mentioned three towns, right? And they're probably small, but still...that was a lot quicker than I'd have expected."  
            "I...improvised." That didn't sound promising. "I printed a picture of your mother and showed it to townsfolk until one of them said that she'd agreed to look after some of your mother's possessions until she or a representative came for them."  
            He blinks. He'd probably never have actually thought about that, considering they were following esoteric clues like some sort of planetary treasure hunt. "That was a lot simpler than I'd have expected."  
            "Considering the trouble we had getting to this point, I concur. I'm sending you the materials; they should arrive in at most a week," Wesley continued.  
            Xander found himself nodding before he realized what had just been said. "...W-wait, what? But I don't know other languages! Shouldn't you be keeping this stuff and reading it considering that you're the guy who knows the languages?"  
            On the other end of the line, he heard a snort. "It's in English, Xander. And since I know a name to go on, now, I'm sure I'll be able to find something. Genealogy is a hobby of mine."  
            Xander pauses. Nope, not going to ask about that one. It's better not to ask, since he doesn't actually want the really, really long lecture.  
            "You wanted proof, correct? I didn't have time to read every page thoroughly, but I do believe this is the proof you wanted." A shiver runs down Xander's back...but this is a good thing. Isn't it?

            Ordinarily, Xander would never have entered a bookstore on his own volition, but here he was, walking into a tiny little store crammed in among all the other stores. He could imagine Giles, either behind the counter, or walking among the shelves looking for esoteric volumes on magic or demons. It almost reminded him of the Magic Box, if the Magic Box had had less customers and more stuff to sell just crammed everywhere.  
            The shop didn't particularly have a name, just read 'books' and had a large painted wooden star below the word. The name, Joestar, and the shooting star from his dream had been bothering him. Following random whims, at this point, was probably all he could do. Besides, if he was going to trust in his own intuition, he might as well go all the way.  
            "May I help you?" Xander startled. He had been under the impression that the people working in bookstores just let you browse. Apparently not.  
            He glanced up, and didn't see what he was expecting either. The guy at the counter wasn't an old British dude wearing glasses, for one thing. He was about Xander's age, and he wasn't wearing a suit. Oh, the vest and the tie were nice, but the tie...wasn't tied completely straight. It pretty much looked like all of Xander's (luckily few) attempts to wear a tie. And he was wearing a hat vaguely like a baseball cap, but with a tweed pattern. Apparently, Britain really was the Land of the Tweed. It didn't quite match the outfit, but whatever. Xander wasn't some fashion designer or anything.  
            Apparently, he's taken too long staring, because the guy snorts. "Were you looking for a book, by chance?"  
            "Yeah, I was, actually." He tries to make a joke out of it, with a friendly grin, but the narrowed, judgmental gaze doesn't change. Even he's a little intimidated. Still, he tries to goof around a little more, since it works on Willow and Giles, who sometimes bemoan his disinterest in reading. Maybe it'll work on this guy, too. "It's never too late, right? I mean, starting at some point is good, even if it takes a while."  
            The guy lets out a long-suffering sigh and places a bookmark in what he's currently reading. "What kind of movies do you tend to like? I can probably point you in the direction of a good example of a genre, or even a few books that were made into movies if that would help you ease into it. We don't want to scare you away from reading forever by making it too difficult."  
            Xander's about to be offended when he catches the smallest of smiles pulling at very corner of the bookstore worker's mouth. Instead, he decides to play along. "Oh, yeah, that would definitely be bad. I want my very first experience reading to be a good one."  
            The blond pauses in his journey around the edge of the counter and to the only customer to cover his face with his palm. "I knew American schools were inferior. That is an American accent, isn't it?"  
            "Yeah." Xander's tempted to share little tidbits about life at Sunnydale High, but only for a moment. It's never a good idea to start talking about Hellmouths or eggs that took over your mind to most members of a populace. He could actually talk about Principal Snyder, the troll, but he hadn't wanted the guy to get eaten no matter how terrible a person he was, which is a kind of depressing thought. "Actually, I'm here for stuff on old British families, if that's a thing you have?"  
            The surprised blink should probably also be insulting, but he was used to it by now. "It...is. Are you looking at genealogy, then?"  
            That word again. "Does that mean family history?" Given the context, he can make a guess, but...  
            Another long-suffering sigh, and the man goes back behind the counter, pulling out a heavy-looking binder with pages and pages of neat handwriting in various inks. "It does. Which family in particular? If they're a famous family, we should have something in stock, or we can order something if you prefer."  
            "Then, yeah. From what I hear, they are a kind of famous family, but my mom probably just comes from a related family or something. I don't know anything about her side of the family, and since everyone on my dad's side is drunk, I thought maybe I'd go looking for hope in my mom's side. Or something." Not really all of it, but it would be nice to know.  
            Well, okay, that's why he works here. He can flip through that book faster than Willow can babble. "All right, I'm to the right section. Which family?"  
            "The Joestars." He waits for the guy to laugh, and tell him that he's never heard of them, and that it's a ridiculous name, but this guy does really, really well at defying expectation.  
            The wide-eyed stare is kind of unnerving, though.  
            Eventually, he begins to wonder if the guy is still even alive, but figures that asking a question before poking the guy is probably a good idea. "Did I say something weird?"  
            The blond shakes his head quickly, trying to hide the shock on his face. "N-no. I just...didn't expect to have actually heard of them. I-well, we don't...that is, I don't think..." It took him a little longer to get himself together, but eventually he does it. "I don't think we have any books on them currently. They're not as famous as the royal family, for example. I'm pretty sure actual books on them are fairly rare, because very little is actually known about them, but...I can keep an eye out for you, if you want."  
            Well, that was...both more and less productive than he wanted. Knowing answers are there but being stuck on the other side of the door from them was getting a little frustrating. Still, Xander doesn't let it show on his face. Despite being a bit arrogant, the guy had actually been really nice and helpful. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, um..."  
            "Fitz. No problem. What name should I put on the notice? I'm not the only one who works here, and if we get a shipment, I'd like to make sure it gets to you as soon as possible." The Englishman had drawn out a pen attached to a feather and was now staring expectantly at his customer.  
            This was probably not the best idea, but he'd already come this far. "Xander Harris."  
            "It's a pleasure to enable your reading, Xander Harris." Fitz waved as Xander exited the store and then went back to his book.


	10. Trial of Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophecy looms large.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, ladies and gents, it's the end of Act I!

_Awaken._  
            Xander's eye flew open, staring at the darkened ceiling above him. For a moment, he thought he saw an oddly familiar wooden roof above him, but that faded with the stroke of lightning that illuminated every inch of his room in the mansion.  
            His left shoulder itched terribly, and the sense of danger had returned. What was going on? Every instinct shouted that he should just hide under his bed like a frightened kid, cowering in the shadows. Something bad was going to happen, and he was powerless to stop it. He was only human. He just got in the way. Why was he still here? Why was he, a mere human, pretending that he could rewrite fate? Useless efforts.  
            And yet...no. His friends were in danger. Innocents he didn't even know. How could he run from this nameless dread? Until it showed its fangs, he couldn't even gauge its threat properly.  
            He clenched his fist. What was that commanding voice he'd heard? Other than himself, no one was in the room, as the next flash showed. So, where did the voice come from...?  
            A panicked rapping at the door. "Sorry, Xander, but you've gotta wake up!"  
            Andrew's voice. "What's going on?" he asked warily, slipping on the eyepatch cautiously. Adrenaline warred with tiredness, and he had to stifle a yawn. Were they being invaded? Stupid as it sounded, had the stone mask made its move?  
            "Y-you're up?" Andrew sounded surprised, but his insomnia wasn't unknown in Slayer HQ. Was it? He figured everyone would've known that, or at least heard his nightmares at some point.  
            The other Watcher burst into the room, accidentally slamming the door into the wall in his haste. "I'm sorry about bursting in like this...look, Giles wants to see you." The expression on his face was apologetic but...scared? What did he have to be scared of? Were they suddenly overrun by vampires during the night or something?  
            "Andrew...what's...." he begins. After all, everyone around him keeps pretending, keeps shutting him out, won't tell him the truth, and he kind of deserves it by now, right? But instead, he's cut off without a thought. It's the only thing Andrew hasn't hesitated about so far.  
            As weird as it is to be dragged around by his fellow nerd in pajamas, that's exactly what's going on right now. "We don't have time for that. It's kind of an emergency. And I'm not a red shirt." This kind of fear is that he'd had around the First, which is really pretty worrisome in of itself. Red shirt? So he was worried about dying? Why?  
            He's tired, reacting to everything sluggishly, and the shock doesn't help him move any faster. The mansion seems completely deserted. Yeah, it's early, but the utter stillness still seems unnatural. They're moving quickly, but they're not running. He'd wonder if his fellow Watcher was just trying not to make noise, but Andrew isn't jumpily looking around, as if something's going to jump out of a corner at any second. Getting him to a specific location fast is the goal, but...why? Is it just because he's this tired that he can't think of an answer, or...?  
            The fear shivers down his spine, electric, and then he's being pulled into a room he's never seen before.  
            Andrew pulls him in a few more steps and then practically makes a run for it. Xander feels the fear, primal now, and wants to join in the run, go somewhere far away. What's going on? Why's Andrew Well, of all people, acting terrified of him, of all people? He's just a normal human... Heavy metal clamps down on his wrists, his neck, holding him in place.  
            He glances up and the room looks vaguely like Roman or Greek ruins, bleached white to the bones and judgmental. He doesn't belong here, a mere insect daring a temple to the gods. The first row of seats are raised further than the height of the main floor he's standing on, alienating him from anyone up there, and there's a wall cutting him off even more. Giles, Buffy, Willow, Dawn...all are sitting in those raised seats, all staring at him with varying degrees of horror, disappointment, and the hardened determination that he's seen on their faces a hundred times. When they're staring at a monster that they have to defeat. Spike's not particularly horrified or disappointed, but he looks ready for a fight.  
            He swallows nervously, but manages to not topple over or faint. "I think I've earned the right to know what's going on." It's a miracle, but his voice doesn't waver more than a little. Inwardly, he wants to run or flail or maybe cry, but none of those things would really help in this situation.  
            Giles is the one to speak. "Where's the mask?" There's no trace of the kind librarian here. It's Ripper, danger and destruction lurking just beneath the surface.  
            His brain literally stops working for a few seconds. Once it restarts, he manages a strangled, "What?" Out of all the things that he could've asked—he didn't want anything to do with the thing...wait. "It's missing?!" Does that mean that they weren't careful enough, that someone managed to figure out what it did and stole it first? His friends are in danger, maybe the world too, he hadn't gotten that proof to show them exactly how dangerous that mask was...  
            "Don't play innocent!" He sees a flash of teeth along with the glare, and he's never seen even Ripper this angry before. He involuntarily tries to take a step back, but remembers as his wrists and spine get uncomfortable that he's held in place by...something metal. "You took the mask. Tell us where it is and redeem yourself—unless it is, in fact, too late."  
            He's used to them not listening when he talks. He's used to them dismissing his fears, his concerns, his life. But this hostility...the people he regards as family have already declared him guilty in their hearts. Sure, he's been obsessed with it lately, and maybe that doesn't help his story, but the fact remains that he'd never lie about something like this, not when it's this dangerous. Tears spring to his eye, and he'd wipe them away, if not for the heavy iron chaining his hands. He does his best to speak calmly, though doesn't succeed as well as he had before. "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, G-man." The secret research; that's the only thing he's been hiding. He tries to convey that to them, that he had to do something about this threat. He tries to convey the hurt, the honesty, everything that he can possibly communicate without words, but his jury sits unmoved.  
            Well, not entirely unmoved. Willow begins to weep.  
            "There's a witness." Giles waves a hand toward another one of the raised sections, and he turns to see a girl-Slayer, probably-with a pink mohawk and piercings all over standing there, staring at him. She winks and smirks quickly, so he's the only one who sees. What...?  
            "Yeah, I saw him. I think he was trying to make sure no one noticed, though." He doesn't know her to look at, but he remembers that voice. The Slayer that was asking about why they bothered to keep around the humans. But this was too elaborate to just get rid of him. What was she after...?  
            "She's lying!" The question was, why? He looks at each of them in turn, but none of them are listening. This is just a nightmare, a horrible nightmare, and he'll wake up. "I'm telling you the truth! Believe me!"  
            The manacles and collar guard tighten slightly, and he realizes that Giles must be controlling them. The force of Ripper's anger was literally going to crush his throat and wrists if he wasn't careful. "You've been acting oddly, but I believed that to merely be a side effect of whatever evils you believed the stone mask was capable, as well as grief over Anya's death." He gestured again, and mohawk-girl was joined by several other Slayers. "However, that was merely what you wished us to think. You used our conversation to plant ideas in my mind, so any odd behaviors were written off and not investigated further. You used your funds, your ability to move around freely, to plot and take action without any of us the wiser. Those here noted your behavior. You were calling someone outside. Who?"  
            It'd been a few years, and he wasn't capable of making friends in Africa? More than that, why hadn't they confronted him about it before? Because...because they were scared? Did they really think he was a threat—the next threat? But he'd die first, before putting them in danger.  
            No. Wait, go back. This wasn't betrayal. They didn't think there was anything to betray. They didn't think he was Xander. Time for the truth. "I was calling someone else to look into the mask. No one was paying attention to me, and I wasn't going to let anything happen to my girls." He paused, a morbidly amused smile crossing his face. "Well. I didn't think anyone was paying attention to me. And I thought me being ignored was going to get everyone killed. Of course I'd do something about that." Fear, still, but manageable now. The fear that made him throw himself in front of the latest demon, knowing that at best all he could do was be a distraction thrown across the graveyard, at worst that he'd end up in a graveyard himself, alongside so many. "Just a couple days, and you'd see I'm telling the truth. The one I'd talked to was sending me a package with proof. But then, if you're currently this freaked out about it, you know that it's a threat. Still, it'll show that I'm not lying about this."  
            "Who are you?" The collar around his throat tightens until he can barely breathe, but with his new understanding of the situation, he sees the Ripper's rage for what it is. Fear. Fear that something's happened to one of his charges and he could do nothing to stop it. Fear that he can't protect any of them, perhaps not even himself. It's a feeling he can understand. It's all that's been fueling him for, what, the past three weeks? Longer?  
            Which means everything he's worked so hard to do wasn't for nothing. He can rest easy, now. Maybe they're not safe, but then, they never really have been. He can live with not being safe. But they'll be ready for the storm that's coming. Even with them distrusting him like this, he can't...won't think they'll kill him. Maybe torture him a little for information he doesn't have, but...he's had worse, and they'll figure out soon enough that he's the real deal. He smiles at all of them, tears in his eye. "I'm the same Xander I've always been." He paused, realizing that nothing he was saying was making a difference. He might as well be completely honest. They couldn't tell whether it was him because none of them had actually bothered to try to figure out who he was in years. "I...I wish I was back in Africa. At least there...it was just me. I could make my own decisions, and I'd have to live with the consequences, but at least I wasn't being second-guessed and practically told I was a liar straight to my face. I don't know why I'm even here. You've made a decision without me. You'd listen to new Slayers over me. I wouldn't lie over something like this, but...it doesn't matter what I say, does it?" He pushes himself up from the slump, wiping at his eye with his elbow as the manacles reflexively tighten. He'll stand tall, ready for whatever else they have to throw at them, because at least they might be safe. The itchiness from his left shoulder is gone, replaced with a dull warmth. "You've already made up your minds that everything I'm saying is a lie." He opens his hands, the clank of the chains emphasizing his words. "Don't drag this out. Just pronounce my sentence, already." He closes his eye, tries to call whatever shreds of dignity and calm he has left.  
            Giles clears his throat, clearly unamused, and is about to speak when suddenly the quiet, ominous room bursts into sound. He opens his eye only to see Buffy fall. Another stream of what looks like water hits Giles in his mouth, and he staggers a little. The chains fall loudly, but suddenly he's feeling a little dizzy himself.  
            "Sorry about this, Mr. Joestar, but it's the best rescue I can manage." Fitz? But before he can open his mouth, protest, question, his consciousness spins drunkenly into oblivion.


End file.
